


Stan's Chair

by lemonfizzies



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Heavy Angst, Post-Canon, Post-Episode: s02e20 Weirdmageddon 3: Take Back the Falls, Post-Weirdmageddon, boy listen...........Grunkle Stan was old ok, in which: dipper cries, it had to happen eventually
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-26
Updated: 2017-09-26
Packaged: 2019-01-05 16:00:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12193095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lemonfizzies/pseuds/lemonfizzies
Summary: Five years and four-hundred-fifteen journal entries later, Dipper hadn't cried once. Dipper. Would. Not. Cry.





	Stan's Chair

"I'm alive, don't take my room!!" Dipper called out, dropping his keys into the bedazzled crystal dish. The dish rested on a half-circle table, perfectly flush with the corner where wall met doorjam. The metal made only a light dink, muffled by a bed of crumpled receipts and gum wrappers.  
He set to work on wrestling his way out of seven layers of soggy winter apparel. By the time Mabel made her way to the front hall, he'd managed to shed four, leaving him clad in a green, down jacket, with an eviscerated rainbow cocoon pooling slush at his feet.  
"The hell happened out there?" Mabel questioned with a snort, prodding the discarded gear with the tip of her sandal.  
"Oh, you know, only a casual class six nymph." Dipper replied with pointed sarcasm. Mabel let out a short laugh, more amused than surprised. She hadn't exactly forgotten to warn him.  
"Lemme guess. She was a hot and breezey, summer sunshine sort of gal?" She teased. Dipper rolled his eyes. The jacket joined the pile and he tied his outer shirt around his neck, leaving him in a blueberry-print thermal and looking very much like an eccentric superhero.  
"Woah hey, look out!" Mabel suddenly yelled, pointing to the open door behind him. Dipper jumped and whirled around to face whatever might have followed him home.  
Nothing.  
He turned back to give Mabel a lecture on the dangers of crying wolf when - click!  
"That's a keeper!" She laughed as the polaroid whirred loudly in her hands, rolling out a blank sheet of instant film. Dipper laughed quietly and shook his head, not wanting to waste the effort in wrestling the embarrassing photo from her clutches.  
"Scrapbook only, Mabes." He warned, kicking the door shut behind him for good measure. He shuddered as some of the melting snow started dripping from his hair down his neck. Mabel only walked back down the hallway, waving goodbye with the photo, still developing.  
He hurried to rip off the rest of the outfit, not even bothering to leave the hall now that she was gone, eager for a for a team meeting over the lunch Mabel had undoubtedly prepared.  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
"I was taking notes on the way home but some of the pages got ruined once the snow started melting, so I have rebind it." Dipper finished, waving his half-eaten sandwich for emphasis. "Can you still get started on the sketches and transfer them later?"  
 Mabel flashed him a thumbs-up, her mouth currently full. Dipper nodded and took a bite himself, chewing slowly. He leaned back in his seat, taking another look around the old room. The same light fixture with the dusty, bare bulb. The same hideous tile. The same old table, too, he'd bet. All crammed into a room that really should've been a closet. An overwhelming sense of nostalgia flooded through him and he swallowed, tears welling up as a result.  
"Whatsit, Dip?" Mabel asked, hurriedly swallowing a lump of bread and cheese that was way too big to be shoving down her esophagus.  
"Jeezus, Mabel, slow down." He dodged the question for now, wincing at her obvious discomfort. Didn't she eat breakfast? Or anything at all while he was gone?  
"Blegh.." Was all she replied, swallowing two or three more times to no avail. She got up, then, taking Dipper's half-empty cup with her to the kitchen. He could hear her rummaging in the fridge but couldn't remember if there was anything other than Mabel Juice sitting in there. He really wasn't in the mood for sweet...  
He leaned further back, tipping the chair with him, so the front two legs lifted off the ground, hooking one foot on the table leg and keeping tiptoe contact with the floor on the other. He closed his eyes and breathed, the smell reminding him less of moldy pine trees and more of lingering stale breakfast. Better than the living room, at least. He almost couldn't bear to look at Grunkle Stan's recliner, as it stood. Forget about the smell of decay.  
The plunk of glass on wood brought him rocking gently forward, met with none other than a tall glass of Mabel Juice. He groaned internally, or, by the look on Mabel's face, maybe vocally.  
"You want water?" She asked, reaching out to take it back. Dipper grabbed it quickly, not wanting her to leave for any reason, even if it meant sipping her shirley temple on steroids. He took a swig, just to prove the point, Mabel watching him with one eyebrow cocked in disbelief. His eyes watered again, worse, but he managed to swallow.  
"Uh huh." she drew out the sound slowly, tasting it, before sitting down to her own glass. "You gonna tell me or do I have to ask?"  
Dipper stalled his answer by taking another mouthful of pink fizzy liquid, holding it and slowly letting it drain down his throat. He made a sound half like an exhalation, half like a wheeze.  
"It's the chAIR." his voice cracked and he slammed a fist to his chest, clearing his throat. "The chair."  
Mabel's face softened immediately and she laid her hand gently on Dipper's arm. He felt a small smile tug at his lips, despite the growing constriction in his airways. He wouldn't cry. This was not a silent repetition meant to prevent welling tears. It was a fact. He would not cry.  
"Hey, Dip," Mabel's eyes were shining and her smile was tight, "Do you want it in the attic?"  
Dipper shook his head, suddenly unable to see through a thick wall of hot tears. He would not cry. The thought of his late great-uncle laughing at him for crying over his butt dent didn't help.  
"Nah, leave it. It's just a chair." Dipper managed to speak around the lump in his throat, "Besides, a monster-hunting business doesn't run itself. We've got more cases lined up, don't we?"  
Mabel frowned slightly but didn't press the issue, taking her brother's glass before he could protest.  
"You know, we're going to run out, eventually. Gravity Falls is only so big, so weird. Then you're gonna have to talk about it." Mabel spoke with her back to Dipper, finger running along the rim of the glass so it made a faint ringing noise.  
"I guess PineStar Supernaturalists will just have to go statewide, then." Dipper couldn't keep the edge out of his voice, not particularly enjoying having his psyche picked apart before his very eyes.  
Mabel laughed from somewhere deep and heavy in her chest.  
"Messages are on the coffee table, bro." She crossed the living room to the stairs, touching a hand to the armrest of Grunkle Stan's recliner as she passed. Dipper. Would. Not. Cry. "I'll rebind the Journal. What number was it?"  
"Eight." Dipper replied, his voice nothing but gravel and tremors. Mabel nodded slowly, the ghost of a smile on her lips.  
"He'd be proud of you, Dip."  
She was gone, wooden staircase creaking as Dipper gaped like a fish, floundering for a reply. Tears spilled heavy and burned his face as he walked numbly over to the recliner, hand shaking, palm outstretched. Even through his tears, Dipper recognized the worn, ugly yellow and plaid. The visible springs and stuffing poofs.  
Dipper sank to his knees, sobbing loudly into the side of the couch, shaking and heaving for all the times he hadn't in the past five years. There was a creaking on the stairs, and Dipper didn't even look up, didn't ask, didn't stop. In time, he would pick himself up. Twin would lean on twin and they would rise together above grief, to continue working, carrying his memory silently until the burden became easier to handle. Not lighter, just less cumbersome. Familiar.  
There would be time, yes, for all the works and days of hands.  
But for now, Dipper just clung tightly to his sister and bawled on the floor of the living room, next to the chair where his Grunkle Stan could never sit again.

**Author's Note:**

> Oops. ✌


End file.
